What a Girl Wants
by Cutthroat Pixie
Summary: Spain/Fem!Romano: Romano fails at making moves on Spain, almost as much as Spain fails at noticing she's making them in the first place.


Title: What a Girl Wants  
Pairing: Spain/Fem!Romano  
Rating: PG-13

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Romano was a woman who liked to dress for comfort. She wore simple, flowing cotton dresses because they didn't get too hot when she was out in the sun for long periods of time, and they were also good for lounging around in. She pulled her hair back into a head band because it was easy, and because it enabled her to hide that odd little curl of hers (that took some actual effort, though). On her feet, when she actually bothered to wear shoes, one would not find impossibly high heels or restrictive footwear, just simple, easy to slip on thongs.

She wore light make up, when she felt like it. Her hair was always nicely brushed and her clothes were always clean, because she wasn't a fucking slob, damnit. She just liked to be comfortable, and dressing herself to the nines to pick some tomatoes or to go to the market just seemed pointless.

And as she poked herself in the eye with an eyelash curler for the third time that evening, she was starting to think her whole "seduce Spain" plan was going to end up being pointless as well.

The plan was simple: she was going to get Spain to notice her for the attractive young woman that she was. She was going to put any and all good fashion sense (and she _did_ have a good deal of that, she was Italian, after all!) to use, and that stupid, moronic, gorgeous bastard of a man was going to stop calling her his "cute little Lovi" and start referring to her using far more pleasing adjectives ("beautiful", "sexy", she'd take anything over "cute", really).

It wasn't a very good plan, and it probably wasn't a very well thought out plan, but it was a plan she had put some actual _effort_ into, and for a lazy woman such as Romano, that sort of plan would have to be good enough.

She was beginning to wonder why she was bothering at all, though. Her make up was flawless (eyelash curler incidents aside). Her hair was silky and smooth, pulled half-way up and adored with a tortoise-shell _peineta_ Spain himself had given her ages ago. She'd bought herself a new dress-- it was short, yet tasteful, and made from rich red satin that just happened to be Spain's favourite shade (not that she'd taken that into consideration, pfft). She'd also purchased some shiny black pumps with the slightest of heels, and they'd turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. She looked wonderful, at least she hoped so, but...

Spain was an idiot, everyone knew that. Well, Romano thought everyone should know that, because it was so obviously true. However, she failed to see how all her previous attempts at getting his attention hadn't gotten through to the man at all. She'd shown up to his house and made him dinner on a few occasions, putting every single ounce of lo-- whatever it was she felt toward Spain into her cooking. He'd been surprised, but he'd just called her cute as always and that had been that. She'd tried complimenting him (because that was what her sister told her to do, as much as she hated to admit that, even to herself), but that hadn't turned out so well either...

_"Your uh... your shirt," she mumbled, not fully realising where she was going with this._

Spain looked up at her, confusion stretching over every inch of his face. "My shirt? Did I spill something on it?"

"No, stupid!" she responded, louder than she'd meant to, her cheeks taken on that embarrassing blush they always seemed to. "No, no. It looks... nice." Her blush deepened when she realised how stupid that sounded.

"It does? Oh, well it's the same one I wore yesterday..." His eyes widened with realisation and Romano thought maybe, just maybe he'd realised how much that simple compliment meant. "Did you want it or something? It's probably too big for you, but oh, Roma would look so cute in it, I think!"

Romano sputtered angrily for a few seconds before throwing her napkin at Spain and storming off.

That was basically what happened any time she told him his clothes looked nice, or he'd done a good job decorating his front room, or his hair smelled good (she wasn't complaining too much about that one, though, Spain had given her tomato-scented shampoo after that).

She'd even let him hug her once without complaining! _And_ she'd maybekindasorta hugged back!

Spain just wasn't getting it and Romano was too stubborn and embarrassed and insecure to outright tell him how she felt.

So. Back to her current plan.

To Spain, she'd always been a child, his adorable little henchman (henchwoman... whatever). Though she'd grown so much, though she was so clearly an adult woman, Spain just wasn't seeing that. Any attempts at flirtation must have been failing because she wasn't standing out enough. She wore the same simple dresses she had as a child, still pulled her hair back just the same, so she wasn't helping anything in that sense.

She was plain, obviously not enough for Spain to find appealing just as she was.

But that was all going to change, because she'd spent hours making herself look the part of somebody Spain just had to find attractive.

Now all she had to do was bite down her nerves, gather up any spare courage she had laying around, and get out of her house to meet Spain for dinner. He'd asked her to come to some new restaurant with him, thank the heavens, or else she would have had to spend just a little more time trying to allow herself to ask him out to dinner.

Twenty minutes later, she was grabbing her purse and heading out, hell-bent on making some serious moves on her moron of an ex-boss she'd somehow had the misfortune of falling for.

---

Romano was going to kill Spain. Going to take off her shoes, beat him with them, and fuckingkillhim.

He'd noticed she'd gotten all dressed up, but all he'd done was look down at himself, look around at everyone else in the restaurant and ask, "Was I supposed to dress up too?"

That was it.

"Lovi?"

Romano picked at the bread on her plate, imagining she was tearing up something of Antonio's instead.

"Lovinaaaaa."

She wasn't even hungry anymore. All she wanted to do was throw the shredded remains of her dinner roll at Spain's stupid, oblivious face and storm off and go home and cry.

"Lovi, querida~."

"Jesus Christ, don't you ever shut the fuck up?"

Spain at least had the decency to look a little taken aback by the ferocity of Romano's words, but then he just laughed. "Your hair comb is slipping," he said, leaning across the table. Before she could protest, he was pulling the comb out, pushing her hair back, and slipping it back into place, with far more skill than she had earlier that night.

And just like that, his hand was gone, he was back in his seat, and Romano realised for the millionthbillionthtrillionth time in her life why she still bothered with that jackass sitting across from her.

"I hate you so much," she mumbled, shoving her plate of bread bits aside, lunging across the table, and attaching her lips to Spain's before she even really knew what she was doing.

Had they been in some sort of cheesy romantic film (or had she been her obnoxiously lucky younger sister), that kiss may have been everything Romano hadn't even known she was hoping for. But she was Romano, and he was Spain, and the chair was toppling over.

Spain went crashing to the floor, Romano on top of him, and everything else in the restaurant went silent as all other patrons turned to look at the pair of idiots lying on the floor amongst splinters of broken wood.

"What was that for?" Spain groaned underneath her, grabbing her around the waist and sitting them both up.

"I..."

"You really shouldn't attack me in public like that, you'll hurt somebody," he scolded.

"I didn't..." she trailed off once more. He didn't even notice what she'd been trying to do! A confused waiter had come over to see what the problem was, but Romano wasn't paying attention as Spain pulled her to her feet and spoke to the other man. Her eyes were stinging, her ears were ringing, and she needed to get out. Now.

"Everything's okay," Spain said just as Romano was running off to the bathroom. "He's going to get me..." Spain looked around, noticing that he had been talking to himself. "Another chair... Where'd she go?"

---

Romano was never coming out of the bathroom. Never. Ever. Well, maybe she'd come out when the restaurant closed, she didn't want to be all alone in a dark building... because that would be boring, it wasn't like she was scared or anything!

But back to the point, she was seriously never coming out. She'd locked herself in the stall furthest from the door and she intended to stay there.

She jumped when somebody knocked on the door of the stall she was in, and for a brief moment she thought maybe Spain had actually followed her in there (that stupid pervert _would_ do something like that), but then her grumbled, "What the fuck do you want?" was answered by a female voice instead.

"Miss?" the other woman said. "You wouldn't happen to be a 'really pretty girl with curly brown hair and lovely hazel eyes wearing the most beautiful red dress ever', would you?" Romano blushed at the description, and the fact the woman sounded so amused. Stupid Spain and his stupid citizens and... he thought she was pretty?

"Tell that bastard I'll be out when I feel like it."

"Sí, claro." The woman laughed as she walked away. "Your boyfriend's waiting right outside the door when you're ready."

Romano grumbled an angry, "He's not my boyfriend," but it fell on deaf ears, as the random woman was already gone.

After a few more moments of sulking, Romano finally exited the stall, only to feel the urge to go back inside when she saw herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her mascara was running, and her dress was wrinkled from sitting in the cramped stall for so long.

She wiped her face with cold water and fixed her mascara, but she still didn't look as nice as she would have hoped. "Oh well," she grumbled.

"Hey," Spain said as soon as she left the bathroom, startling her despite the fact that she knew he'd be waiting there for her. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

"I'm fine," Romano responded, brushing past Spain to head back to their table. "Lets just eat."

Spain grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her back toward him. "We'll eat in a minute, tell me what's wrong? I don't know what I said to make you so angry!"

"I wasn't angry," she muttered, flushing.

"You weren't?" Spain frowned in confusion. "But you head butted me, just like when you were little! You really shouldn't do that, by the way, we're lucky I know the owner of this place, you broke a really nice chair."

"I wasn't head butting you!"

"But you did!"

Romano growled, knowing this was clearly going nowhere. "You're such a moron."

"Hm? Come on, Lovi, what's Boss done now?"

"You're not my boss." Before Spain could respond to that, Romano was stepping closer, grabbing Spain by the shoulders, and kissing the hell out of his stupid, idiotic, ridiculously soft lips.

Romano almost pulled back in embarrassment when Spain didn't return the kiss after a few seconds, but then he was pulling her closer toward him and kissing back in a way that was better than she ever could have imagined (not that she ever thought about kissing him, fuck that shit).

The two of them almost forgot where they were, too wrapped up in that kiss to pay attention to anything else, until an amused, "Excuse me," sounded behind them and Romano realised she and Spain were blocking the bathroom door.

"Oh, hey, it's you again," Spain said when he pulled back away from Romano. "Lovi, this is the girl that got you to come out of the bathroom!"

Romano just rolled her eyes. "Lovely. We're going to eat now." With that, she grabbed Spain by the wrist and dragged him back to their table.

---

Romano was many things, but patient was definitely not one of them. Now that she'd finally managed to get Spain's attention (and she knew she had for sure, the bastard had been grinning and complimenting her even more than he usually did all through dinner), she was just _itching_ to pick back up where they'd left off earlier.

"Should we get dessert?" Spain asked, looking over the small menu of various sweets.

"No," Romano growled out. She loved sweets, she really did, but she just didn't want to sit in this goddamned restaurant any longer. "Pay the damn bill, we're going now."

"Aww," Spain pouted, obviously not understanding Romano's urgent need to leave. "But I wanted dessert."

Before she really knew what she was saying, "Come with me now and you can have dessert when we get back to your house," was slipping out of her mouth and she paused to blush deeply and ponder when she'd become such a pervert.

Spain was still Spain, though, and he clearly didn't understand what she meant. "Ah, okay! You going to make me something?"

Romano just blushed deeper and went silent as she waited for Spain to pay their bill.

---

It had taken quite some time for them to actually leave the parking lot of the restaurant, as Romano had found occupying Spain's mouth with her own was far more interesting than driving. It was also far more interesting than listening to him talk once they'd actually managed to make it back to his house.

It was _almost_ more interesting than walking up the stairs, but then Romano had tripped and yelled at Spain for a good three minutes about his house being "too fucking slippery" before he'd swept her up into his arms and carried her struggling form up to his bedroom.

Her hair was a mess, she realised as Spain gently removed the hair comb from her curl. Her dress was slowly becoming more and more wrinkled, and her lipstick was smudged beyond belief (all over Spain's mouth).

"Eres muy hermosa," Spain mumbled against her collar bone, smiling up at her flushed face before pressing a kiss to her skin.

And while she didn't quite agree, while she knew she had looked better in her life, Romano couldn't find it in herself to argue with Spain, because she was finally getting what she'd wanted all along.


End file.
